The next day, at break of dawn, I went in search of Captain Corsican,
whom I found in the grand saloon. He had passed the night with Fabian,
who was still suffering from the shock which the name of Ellen’s husband
had given him. Did a secret intuition tell him that Drake was not alone
on board? Had Ellen’s presence been revealed to him by the appearance of
this man? Lastly, could he guess that the poor crazed woman was the
young girl whom he so fondly loved? Corsican could not say, for Fabian
had not uttered one word all night.
Corsican resented Fabian’s wrongs with a kind of brotherly feeling. The
intrepid nature of the latter had from childhood irresistibly attracted
him, and he was now in the greatest despair.
“I came in too late,” said he to me. “Before Fabian could have raised
his hand, I ought to have struck that wretch.”
“Useless violence,” replied I. “Harry Drake would not have risked a
quarrel with you; he has a grudge against Fabian, and a meeting between
the two had become inevitable.”
“You are right,” said the Captain. “That rascal has got what he wanted;
he knew Fabian, his past life, and his love. Perhaps Ellen, deprived of
reason, betrayed her secret thoughts, or, rather, did not Drake before
his marriage learn from the loyal young woman all he was ignorant of
regarding her past life? Urged by a base impulse, and finding himself in
contact with Fabian, he has waited for an opportunity in which he could
assume the part of the offended. This scoundrel ought to be a clever
duellist.”
“Yes,” replied I. “He has already had three or four encounters of the
kind.”
“My dear sir,” said the Captain, “it is not the duel in itself which I
fear for Fabian. Captain Mac Elwin is one of those who never trouble
themselves about danger, but it is the result of this engagement which
is to be dreaded. If Fabian were to kill this man, however vile he may
be, it would place an impossible barrier between Ellen and himself, and
Heaven knows, the unhappy woman needs a support, like Fabian, in the
state she now is.”
“True,” said I; “whatever happens we can but hope that Harry Drake will
fall. Justice is on our side.”
“Certainly,” replied the Captain, “but one cannot help feeling
distressed to think that even at the risk of my own life I could not
have spared Fabian this.”
“Captain,” said I, taking the hand of this devoted friend, “Drake has
not sent his seconds yet, so that, although circumstances are against
us, I do not despair.”
“Do you know any means of preventing the duel?”
“None at present; at the same time, if the meeting must take place, it
seems to me that it can only do so in America, and before we get there,
chance, which has brought about this state of things, will, perhaps,
turn the scales in our favour.”
Captain Corsican shook his head like a man who had no faith in the
efficacy of chance in human affairs. At this moment Fabian went up the
stairs leading to the deck. I only saw him for a moment, but I was
struck by the deadly pallor of his face. The wound had been reopened,
and it was sad to see him wandering aimlessly about, trying to avoid us.
Even friendship may be troublesome at times, and Corsican and I thought
it better to respect his grief rather than interfere with him. But
suddenly Fabian turned, and coming towards us, said,—
“The mad woman, was she! It was Ellen, was it not? Poor Ellen!”
He was still doubtful, and went away without waiting for an answer,
which we had not the courage to give.